The morning air over Black Tortoise City was sharp and clean, laced with the faint scent of stone and sea. Along the lower streets, where the newly built homes lined the terraces in neat, even rows, a small group of weary travelers stood in disbelief.
"Can we really live here?" one of them whispered.
She was a woman heavy with child, her hands resting protectively over her rounded belly. Her face was drawn and pale, the look of someone who had spent too many nights in flight, too many days waiting for punishment that never came. Before her stood a modest stone house—simple but sturdy, roofed in polished slate and fitted with glass windows.
Mirean Moon smiled softly. "Of course. This one is yours."
The woman blinked. "But… my husband is a thief." Her voice trembled as she said the word, as if even naming his crime might bring down judgment. "I thought… I thought people like us wouldn't be allowed to stay here."
